Crimson Moon
by scriptophile
Summary: Hate, wrath, passion and lust all coiled up in tight, male muscles. — Nnoitra/Nelliel


**Title**: Crimson Moon

**Synopsis**: Hate, wrath, passion and lust all coiled up in tight, male muscles.

**Genre**: Fanfiction/Angst/Romance

**Status**: Completed

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_**Note**__: I think my best oneshots are those that involve these two. Honestly. Even if y'all hate this pairing, I enjoy writing what I love, man. #dealwithit_

_**Note 2**__: I nailed the Present Tense, guys. Achievement!_

_**Note 3**: Also, to Guest who left a comment on my other story "Something Buried", thank YOU for sharing the same view as I do. It was pretty obvious that Kubo had some lazy writing, many plotholes and loose ends. So yes, why would anyone bother to take his relationship chart or whatsoever even seriously? Haha thank you for your feedback again!_

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_**Drip. Drip. Drip.**_

Crimson _blood_ drips from yet another inflicted wound on his well-toned stomach. Nnoitra Jiruga lets out a few grunts and grits his teeth as he bears the pain. Once more, he kneels defeated by the Tres Espada. Damn, he frickin' _hates_ her. He _absolutely frickin' hates_ her.

"Whatcha waitin' for? Finish me off already!" He growls, frustration ripping his gut.

"Don't make me repeat myself every single time, Nnoitra." The teal-haired Espada replies him flatly. "I will _not_ kill that which is weaker than me."

Nnoitra clenches his jaw tight as rage wells in his blood. That response, again. That _frickin' _response. _Again._ He is so sick and tired of hearing that belittling insult from her. It's always that same old "you're weaker than me" crap, and God, he _hates_ it so much. Nnoitra _hates it so much._

_He honestly hates her so frickin' much._

Nelliel stands still, her left hand resting on the pommel of her sword, and she looks straight at Nnoitra with no expression on her face.

After all, she's always good at hiding her true emotions and expressions, _so nobody actually really knows how she truly feels deep down._

_(Nel likes to keep her feelings hidden.)_

And if only Nnoitra knew how she feels everytime he wants to have a _duel_ with her.. If only he knew how she feels everytime she has to raise her sword at him or _against_ him.. If only he knew how she feels everytime she has to _cut_ him.. If only he knew how she feels everytime she watches him _bleed_..

If only he can actually understand, then things may not have been this difficult, she thinks to herself. But then again, he is Nnoitra Jiruga. The Quinto Espada who can never grasp and understand, _what more follow,_ her beliefs and value system. He is nothing but a _raw beast_ who believes that fighting is his sole purpose in this life that he leads. Fight, and kill.

On the contrary, Nel _hates_ to fight. She _dislikes_ fighting and hurting others. She believes that it is _animalistic_ to fight without any reason, and that beings with reason need to have a _true_ _purpose_ to fight someone. Like, protecting someone they love or care for, or fight as an act of self-defense.

This clash of beliefs, ultimately, is the reason why Nel doubts that Nnoitra can ever be tamed. She has tried to change his ways once, twice—_even opened up to him and genuinely shared one of her deepest, darkest fantasies with him_—and thought that she has succeeded, but _no_, she actually fails. Will she _ever_ be able to change him?

_Will he ever change?_

Nel sighs, and wishes that she has never known him or even met him at all.

(Nel wishes that she's not an Arrancar in the first place.)

Nel wishes that she _never_ exists.

_**Huff. Huff. Huff.**_

With every panting breath, Nnoitra slowly lifts himself off the ground and straightens himself up. He feels a spasm of sharp pain shoot through his ribs, but he doesn't care about that. He feels the warm, wet sensation of blood ooze from the gash in his pale skin, but he doesn't care about that. He tastes an unpleasant, salty metallic essence of blood in his dry mouth, but he doesn't care about that. His only focus is on the woman who is standing, _tall and strong,_ some distance away from him.

The woman who constantly belittles him, and mocks his strengths and abilities. The same woman who refuses to recognize him as a warrior. The same woman who always declines to battle him to the death. The very same woman who _consistently denies his demise_ every single damn time he finds himself in the jaws of death. He hates her for all that. _Who does she think she is?_

**_Sigh. Sigh. Sigh._**

A flash of blue-green waves on his pillow and _quiet moans of his name_ against his ear. Long, sexy legs and goddess-like hips held _firmly_ by slender hands and spider-like fingers. Smooth, warm skin, and lots and lots of gripping, labored breathings, scratching and biting. And—

Nnoitra cuts off the lustful thoughts of his past. _Their_ past. There is a reason why it's termed "past", and it has to be left behind. It doesn't exist anymore. _Not now._

_"You worthless piece of shit!"_ He curses himself in his thoughts. He hates Nel, yes, but more than anything else in the entire world, _Nnoitra actually hates himself the most._ He hates his worthless, pathetic and useless self so frickin' much.

So frickin' much that _it frickin' hurts every part of him._

_Down to his frickin' core._

And then he watches Nelliel do what she does best.

She slowly turns away from him without uttering a single word. Nnoitra has already seen this coming, as it frequently happens. Everytime.

He is _so_ angry. Nnoitra Jiruga is _so angry_ at Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck for existing. He is _so_ angry that she is undoubtedly stronger than him. He is _so angry at her_ with her condescending and big-headed attitude. He is _so very angry at her_ for always doing this whole leaving-without-saying-anything act everytime their duel ends.

_But, more than that, he is so very angry at her for not granting him his death wish._

_Again._

Nnoitra watches the teal-haired female walk away, leaving him _painfully_ alone, in the chalky desert of Hueco Mundo. He grits his teeth, clenches his jaw and squeezes his fists until his knuckles crack, and he swears that _he absolutely frickin' hates her._

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/

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_**Knock. Knock. Knock.**_

Nnoitra jumps at the sound of the knocking on his bedroom door, causing the gauze pad that he was about to press onto his wound, to fly out of his fingers, then landing onto the cold, hard floor.

"Tch!" He grunts. "Whaddaya want, Tesra?! I told ya not to bother me!"

The bedroom door opens, and Nnoitra spots the back of a fairy-green head, one that is _too_ familiar. He narrows his eye in irritation, with the corners of his mouth turned down, and lets out a heavy sigh, before looking away. Nnoitra knows that _this girl will be the death of him_, someday.

"But I'm not Tesra. Can I come in?" Nelliel asks, her voice a trifle soft.

"Whadda fuck more do ya want from me, Nel?"

She leaves his question unanswered and enters his room, shuts the door quietly behind her, then makes her way to his bed. Nnoitra shifts uncomfortably as she sits to his right, without having asked for his permission at the very least. His cheeks suddenly start to grow hot as he realizes that he's shirtless in front of Nelliel.

_(It's been a while...)_

And it's making him a tad awkward and uncomfortable at this very moment. _Wait, shouldn't it be the other way?_ She should be the one to feel awkward, or uncomfortable, _not him._ And she should be the one to blush, _not him._

_Da fuck am I blushin' for?!_ He screams, inwardly.

"You were cleaning your wounds, Nnoitra?" She asks, softly and gently, and Nnoitra's blood instantly boils because he hates that he secretly _likes_ this gentle and caring side of her. The gentle, caring Nel. _He likes her like this._

"Nah, I was stabbin' myself." He decides to go with the sarcastic response. "Obviously I was cleanin' my wounds."

Nelliel rolls her eyes. _He still has the nerve,_ she muses to herself.

She tilts her head sideways and says in a haughty voice, "Nnoitra, you know very well that you _really_ _suck_ at wound dressing. Come here, I'll help you with it." She reaches out for the first-aid kit behind him and inches _even closer_ towards the male.

"Da hell?! No! I can do this by myself! I don't need any help from ya." He says, before pulling his gaze away from her gorgeous, sparkling eyes. He continues in a low tone, "Jus'.. jus' go back ta' yer room, Nel."

"No._ I won't_. I'm not going anywhere until I'm done doing you."

Nnoitra quickly turns to face her, blinks his eye and creases his eyebrow in disbelief at what he had just heard. She looks at him with innocent eyes, not understanding why he's gawking at her like that. She can see his cheeks turn slightly red; noticeable, though not obvious.

And then it hits her!

Nel finally realizes that her earlier remark had come out totally wrong.

_Shit! Of all the words I could have used!_ She curses in her mind. She blushes bright red and avoids looking at him in the eye.

In an attempt to clear the awkwardness clouding the atmosphere and hide her mounting embarrassment, the female clears her throat hastily. "Um, what I meant was—"

"I got watcha mean," Nnoitra interjects, and looks straight ahead. Nelliel quietly watches his throat work and his eyebrow _again_ furrows into a frown, as if thinking about something. Roughly a minute later, he exhales a soft sigh.

"Alright, alright. Jus' hurry up and get on with da dressin'."

Nel smiles upon hearing those words.

"Lie down on the bed." She orders, and Nnoitra complies.

She rummages through the first-aid kit and is happy to see that everything she requires are there. Butterfly and sprain bandages, antiseptic wipes, cotton gauze pads, tweezers, safety pins, scissors, several pairs of hand gloves, adhesive tape and band-aids, and an antibacterial gel ointment of some sort. She looks at the bottle of ointment and the box of antiseptic wipes which are both still fully-loaded. She wonders why Nnoitra doesn't use them.

"These antiseptic wipes and ointment are not meant for you to chuck them aside, you know?" She says, matter-of-factly. "They're really helpful. You ought to use them especially when cleaning your cuts and wounds. It will help prevent complications of your injuries and aids the healing process."

"Can't be bothered ta' waste my time with additional, tedious steps," Nnoitra grumbles. "I jus' wanna clean up da wounds fast."

Nelliel glances at him sideways, shakes her head and smiles a little. She knows _very well_ how stubborn he is, and how he likes to do things the easiest way. _Nel knows._

"So I'm going to have to clean your wounds with these antiseptic wipes first," she explains. "You are _not_ going to like it."

"Hm."

Taking the antiseptic wipe, Nelliel starts to clean the gash on his stomach, which causes him to suck in a breath.

_**Umph. Umph. Umph.**_

Nnoitra bites his lower lip as he tries to keep himself from shouting at the searing pain. His entire body stiffens. The antiseptic feels like acid and it burns his skin. _God, it frickin' stings!_ Somewhere in the back of his mind, he wonders if Nel is _genuinely_ trying to help him, or actually attempting to torture him.

"I'm sorry," Nel whispers with sincerity in her voice, dabbing the gash lightly now as she takes a quick glance at the Quinto Espada. His face is contorted from the pain he's enduring and she notices beads of perspiration trickle down his face. She watches him huff and puff before biting down on his lower lip. In that moment, Nel can't help but think that _he looks pretty hot with that lip-biting shit_ he's doing.

"Nah, it's alright," he responds in a husky but gentle tone, his eye still squeezed shut.

His husky voice makes her insides _coil_. She knows that voice. She has heard it a few times before, once upon a time, but in an entirely different situation. Situations that involve the friction of skin.. against skin...

Nel shakes off her thoughts that can otherwise rattle her composure. She's not able to handle all that right now; Nnoitra needs medical attention and she has to focus.

She reaches out for another antiseptic wipe and clean the remaining gash on his stomach before pressing on them with a non-stick gauze pad. When the bleeding has reduced ultimately, she proceeds to put the ointment. Then she stands up, and requests for Nnoitra to sit up on his bed so that she can wrap his wounds with a bandage.

Approximately five minutes later, everything is settled.

"There, you're all cleaned up! Thankfully it's not a deep cut. Otherwise, you'd need me to stitch you up."

After having said that, Nelliel immediately feels a pang of guilt, for she's the one who had cut him earlier. She caused it all. Nevertheless, she feels relieved that it wasn't a deep cut. _Nel is truly relieved._

Nnoitra looks at his flawlessly-bandaged body, and then at the teal-haired beauty. She stands there, gazing at him intently with her round, hazel eyes and wearing this cute little smile. There's only one more thing left for Nnoitra to do...

He knows that he has to thank her. Especially for everything that she has done for him just now. But how? How is he going to look straight at her face and do that? He doesn't have the courage.

Oh, the pride. _The frickin' pride!_

Nnoitra hates it. He hates it so much. He hates to admit that he is glad that she has helped him. He hates to admit that he appreciates her kind assistance so very much, and he hates himself so much for not knowing how to tell her that.

_How the hell is he going to tell her that?!_

Nnoitra Jiruga is going to _thank_ Nelliel Tu Odelschwanck. Seriously?

He tears away his gaze from her beautiful face. He can feel a tinge of anger rising inside him. The fact that Nelliel has offered to help nurse him a while ago, and that he has _agreed_ to it, pisses him off. He _hates_ that she was being really nice to him from the time she had come to his dormitory, up till now. He _hates_ it. He _hates_ that she's probably doing these out of pity. 'Cause he _doesn't_ want all that.

_No, he can't have all that._

He looks into Nelliel's eyes again, and is suprised to see the beautiful, hazel eyes already staring him back. The smile that was there moments ago had vanished, and in its place is a look of pure—

_**Thump. Thump. Thump.**_

His heart beats wildly against his chest, and he forces himself to look away.

Nnoitra knows that look on Nelliel's face perfectly well. He has seen it before. Once, twice.

_That is the unmistakeable look of pure longing._

As much as he desires that expression from her, Nnoitra _hates_ it. He _hates_ it because he knows what it _does_ to him. He _hates_ it because he knows that he will _not_ be able to stop himself. He _hates it so much_ because he knows that he will take her in his arms, again, and kiss the hell out of her, like he _always_ did. _Like they always did._ He _hates it so very much_ because he knows that _she_ wants it. And he frickin' _hates it even more_ because he knows that _he_ wants it too. _He wants it too._

Nnoitra exhales, and slowly rises up from his bed. On his way up, he pulls her, off-guard, gently by her waist and closes the gap between them, capturing her soft, luscious lips with his.

A thousand explosions detonate inside the two beings. A thousand fireworks burst behind their shut eyelids. They stand locked in each other's embrace, lips entwined, body too close; with a thousand butterflies fluttering in the pit of their stomach, and a thousand flowers blooming—_all at once_—in their lush garden of throbbing passion.

"Thank you, Nel." He whispers in between their kiss, and he feels Nelliel's lips slowly curl into a smile.

_—_

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**_the end._**

**_/_**

**_Word count: _**_2,634_

_**P.s.:** Don't forget to leave me a feedback, and favorite it if you have enjoyed it. - xoxo_


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